The way you wear your hat, the way you sip your tea...

Jake and I had a very weird relationship. In a nutshell, “he travelled a lot and she waited a lot”, my friends would say, but that’s really not all there was to it!

Jake transported me into a different world when we were together. A world of romance and caring, land of old-world good manners. In this world Frank Sinatra is still alive and couples slow dance to jazz and classical music in their sitting rooms.

Breaking the subtle and dreamlike reality of the world we created around us was not something I liked to do very much, so for the last year or so I didn’t go out as much as I used to. Nothing was as nice, as cultured, as interesting, so whenever he was not here, I preferred to sit at home in my old pyjamas, watch romantic comedies, drink wine and eat chocolates. Before you asked, Mademoiselle Diane (moi) is aware that getting drunk in my pyjamas is not glamorous. Make believe I was tipsy and that my pyjamas were Chinese silk. Think mascara and cigarette holders. Does this sound too much like Great Expectations? Bésame…bésame mucho…

In any case, thanks to all this good wine and great chocolates, I am carrying around an extra 7 kilos. I finally faced the scales at the gym and they weren’t at all diplomatic about it: "Wam-bam-you´re a fat-mam!" Damn!

So I am back to a very real and non-glamorous world of dieting and working out. Wearing make-up also helps getting over break-ups, in case you are going through anything similar. Smiling, encouraging gym teachers and personal trainers. All that beef…!

Jake finally let me know (via SMS again – got to value the consistency) that he will be in town so we can talk this break-up over next week. I have arranged to go out for dinner with Paul a couple of days before, so I can have at least one date behind me when I face Jake. Yes, I have fantasized that he will beg me to forgive his wrong choices, implore me to take him back and present me with tickets to his hometown, where he will finally introduce me to his family before popping the question on the seashore.

I will be wearing a white dress, a black panama hat, and a lot of pearls. He’ll be leading the dance, and good old Frank will be there, singing “The way you hold your knife, The way we danced until three, The way you've changed my life… No, no...They can't take that away from me…”

So, let´s compare: dancing by the sea with the love of your life x going on a diet and dating the only "he´s single!" friend from the last wedding you went to. It´s just so obvious, if Freud hadn´t existed, I´d be in AA, in a fictional world, in love with the ghost of Frank Sinatra.

Cheers to the Dead!

Another weekend was successfully survived. I decided it was time to “drink the dead” this weekend. This is an old Mexican tradition, which is also popular in the north of Brazil.

Basically, the Day of the Dead consists of celebrating the lives of the deceased and the beginning of this new phase for them, as well as the continuation of life on earth. The festivities start in mid-August and keep going for a month, so I figured I was just in time.

I got 5 friends together with the excuse that we should say good-bye to summer at home. I thought they might have second thoughts about the ingredients of my cocktails if I mentioned the dead, so I kept it quiet. No one wants to see an eye instead of a piece of ice it their drinks, at least not until Halloween...

Friends came bearing flowers and drink. All pictures of Jake removed, all personal items such as toothbrushes and shaving cream were successfully gotten rid of. My boss (yes, he dropped by, drank, smoked pot and flirted with a friend of mine… but I´ll get back to this one later) even said “I´m glad I saw you laughing so much”.

There was no mention of the dead at all. Actually, each one of us has a recent break-up, so it was fun to just talk about sex, the Internet and our heritage. No Mexican blood apart from larges doses of tequila in any of us, but no one cares, anyway.

Jake, RIP!

Freshly baked fantasies

One more day, one more hangover. Last night was Flora´s birthday and we were up speaking about Jake (yes, I know, this is getting boring) until 2am. And drinking. Flora is my closest friend in town. We decided on a quiet dinner for her birthday, at her home, including her family - husband, 2 kids - and myself.

We got all dressed up and I noticed my favourite party dress is tighter than usual. I officially hate Jake! Breaking my heart is one thing; making me gain weight is so not acceptable!

To make matters worse, I had a presentation first thing in the morning. A very boring presentation. But it did include fresh croissant, so Fatso and Her Hangover had 2. And 2 cups of coffee with milk and sugar. What´s wrong with me? Someone tie me down!

Flora said that Jake is a selfish bastard. She also said we are going to get back together, but I think she said that because she loves me and knows that hearing it from her makes me hurt less. She knows that it´s what I want and that I would love to believe it, that these fantasies make life possible when one is feeling down. Or hungover.

I used to have the best fantasies in the world. The house that Jake and I would share, how we would read by the fireplace and exchange intelligent conversation in our old age. Our gorgeous and brilliant children. Yeah, yeah, yeah – I know - going over these scenes is masochism, an act of self-inflicted pain guaranteed to keep me feeling sorry for myself and not get on with my life.

Like the croissant. I know it will hurt me, but I just can´t keep my dirty little fingers away.

Black guck

So here I am at work, fully functional after the all-consuming, life-altering pain I went through 2 weeks ago. Isn´t it poetic how one feels one will never survive a broken heart and tragic that one usually does? Maturity is so unromantic.

This morning I was coming to work with Gonzalo, listening to Bono going on about “Love is a temple, love’s the higher law, you asked me to enter, and then you make me crawl…” and I had to hold back a tear. Sucks how long it takes until the pain leaves the body. It’s kind of similar to quitting smoking, you spend the next month or so coughing up black guck…ok, gross, but thinking of Jake as black guck makes me feel better.

Yesterday Jake send me a message, saying he is in some conflict zone and will call me when he arrives in safe territory once more. And that I am still very special to him. Damn right I am. Damn him. Black guck.

So I am now wondering what the hell I’m going to do about Paul. Paul is the guy I met at Petra Downey’s wedding last weekend. Petra and I worked together at G&M, the great-global-advertising-agency. We are good friends, even though we had huge fights about her late arrivals due to extreme partying habits. Try being good friends when you’re a boss…

Petra met Phillip Duke partying and he turned out to be perfect. They got married last weekend at the family castle, so it turns out that partying was really good for her! I must be going to the wrong places, all I ever get from partying is a hangover…ok, and laughs, too. Must not get old and bitter.

Anyway, it was a big, traditional wedding. Jake promised he’d go with me. He was actually quite excited, said he loves weddings, dancing corny love songs (You’re my first, you’re my last…), etc. Then he broke up with me a week before because he realized he couldn’t make it after all because of work. And felt guilty about making me waste my time waiting for him. And was nobly letting me go, even though I will always be the love of his life…yeah, right.

And me? I was left sitting alone with three other couples at dinner.

Thank God for Paul. Paul is Phillip Duke’s friend and was introduced to me the night before, at a wedding-warm-up barbecue. The groom Phillip walked him straight up to me – “Diana, will you take care of him for me? He’s single…”(shoot me!) .

In any case, even after his opening line that left me wondering if he worked at border control “You live in Madrid? How come I’ve never seen you?” Paul was quite nice.

We met walking through the grounds of the castle the next day and had a good time. And, after I gave up hoping Jake would show up and beg for an apology at the wedding, he was right there to dance with me. Good man.

Problem is, he has now invited me to dinner. Next Friday night. He has nice eyes, but I am still suffering withdrawal symptoms about Jake. Alice Cooper (yes, I am a rock fan) said his lover was like poison running through his veins. Love and philosophy. Black guck.

My boyfriend left me two weeks ago. Over email. This happened one day after he told me he carried me in his heart and he loved me. Over SMS.

I´m going to borrow Ronald Mc Donald´s shoes, they are obviously what I need this time around. And the red nose. And the paint. It all matches my mood - "ridiculously foolish meets child nightmare".

Jake (the ex) is always travelling. He is 35, tall and good looking. He is also extremely smart and does very well for himself. The thing is, he works in some high-security government job - so he can never get on the phone when he travels. I knew about this and have been putting up with it for about 6 months, which is when he accepted this job. The way he put it, it was a clear case of "job of his lifetime x love of his life". And me...well, I fought the world, but the world won.

On top of being quite boring, I will probably be killed if I go on and on about what Jake has been up to. Think world leaders, rock stars, sheiks, etc. Believe me, sounds much more interesting than it is.

So now here I am, 32 and single (again). Over the last 2 weeks I have had insomnia, anxiety attacks, a whole packet of chocolate-macadamia cookies, way too much drink and started smoking all over again. So this guy has broken my heart and made me fatter and less healthy - talk about a fuck-up.

By the way, I´m Diana, I live in Madrid and I hate Mc Donald´s.